


Vir Lath Sa'vunin

by Kagutsuchi



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Battle Couple, Emotional Baggage, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Lots of Mages, Meeting the Parents, POV Alternating, if you can ever consider ferelden truly post-war, lots of elves, political maneuvering, post-war ferelden exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagutsuchi/pseuds/Kagutsuchi
Summary: The end of the Fifth Blight heralds a new dawn for Ferelden and her peoples, but consolidating support for the young new king will not be easy, and rebuilding would be an arduous task even without the threat of residual darkspawn and fresh new horrors lingering in the wake of the Archdemon. Aelinor Surana and Alistair Theirin will need all the strength, savvy, cunning, and knowledge they can muster if they are to heal their country's hurts. With help from friends new and old and their love for each other, they will face down adversity as they always have: together.





	1. The Vhenadahl

**Author's Note:**

> "Vir Lath Sa'vunin" is a line from Leliana's Song - the one she sings to the warden after Zathrian and/or the Lady of the Forest die during the Nature of the Beast quest line. It is an old elven song that Keeper Lanaya may share with you in the form of a codex entry. The line means "we love one more day."

The Denerim vhenadahl budded with new growth in the low summer sun, slathered with a new layer of pale red paint that reflected the light of the candles at its base as they flickered in the evening breeze. Aelinor Surana stooped to pray there, smiling as she quietly thanked Andraste for having seen the alienage through the Fifth Blight and for suffusing it with a life that had all but left it under Loghain’s tyranny.

She remembered another oak tree bent double on itself in the cramped confines of the Lothering alienage walls, aching to stretch its limbs but holding itself back, for their sake. “As a mage, you are like this tree,” her father told her when the templars came to take her away. “You always held yourself back, that you might remain with us. Go now, and learn all you can of it so nothing can confine you.” She was seven years old and the Alienage’s best kept secret, outed as a mage when she had frozen a drunken human solid mid-assault on the elderly Hahren Elora for her daring to ask him to leave the elven quarter. Her father’s words had held more truth than he could possibly have known. If only he had lived to see them take shape.

Aelinor stood up and smoothed out her traveling robes, fine enough that she could wear them in court and unobtrusive enough that she felt comfortable wearing them among the common people of the city. The mark of her order was evident without ostentation, a griffon emblazoned in detailed stitching on the back, pale grey on dark blue. The man at her side dressed simply enough himself, though the leathers he wore were of obviously fine make. His short-sleeved jerkin and linen tunic were hardly the garment of kings, however, and of course that is why he chose to wear them. She turned to him.

“Why is it that we meet here today, Your Majesty?” Alistair winced at the formality, but he knew that she was determined to make their relationship as professional as possible in public.

“There’s someone here to see you. Two someones. Shianni arranged lodgings for them in Cyrion Tabris’ old place.” She raised her eyebrows at him, sorely tempted to peck him on the cheek. She still couldn’t believe Fereldan had a king who took such an active interest in elven affairs the likes of which the country had never seen in living memory. He knew the names and history of nearly every family here now, more so than she herself did given how often she had to range far afield in her duties as a sort of Warden ambassador in the aftermath of the Blight.

“Who might they be?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled, eyes lit by the spark of mischief she’d missed so dearly when she’d been away. Aelinor followed him to the house and knocked. After the Blight, the home of the well-respected Tabris family had become a sort of community center as well as a memorial, the better not to let a good living place go to waste after the Tabris daughter had died in the uprising. Aelinor had not given up hope on tracking down the Denerim elves sold into slavery under Loghain’s regency and had sent Zevran and some other covert operatives to follow up on any leads they might gather as to the whereabouts of Cyrion Tabris and the other captives she herself did not arrive in time to rescue during the Blight. They had been gone for months, but would send word by raven should they locate anyone who might be saved. In the meantime, however, his niece Hahren Shianni assured the alienage that this is what Cyrion would have wanted.

The door opened and Aelinor, not knowing what to expect, wasn’t quite sure who the tired, greying elven couple who answered her knock was at first. But one look at the man’s shaggy mane of red-gold hair and the woman’s bright green eyes, so like her own, and she knew them for her parents. She could not move, unable to believe her eyes, and for a moment, neither could they.

“But...Lothering was destroyed...y-you couldn’t possibly be–” Her mother took her in her arms and embraced her tight enough to hamper her breathing, though that might’ve just been the rapid beating of her heart. Over his wife Oriane’s shoulder, Ilven Surana took Aelinor’s face in his hands as carefully as if she were made of porcelain, as if he held her too ungently she would disintegrate.

“Aelinor. My daughter. You are here, and you are free. I hadn’t dared to hope...”

Her mother wept openly and stepped back, the better to take in the sight of her. “Our child, a woman grown, and the Hero of Fereldan! It wouldn’t matter how we got you back, but to meet you in such a way...!”

As if breaking out of a trance, the two of them abruptly turned to Alistair and bowed low. “Your Majesty, how can we ever thank you? For the return of our most precious daughter we owe you our lives.” Alistair chuckled.

“Believe me, _I_ should be the one thanking you. But we can talk more inside, sers, so shall we?” He clasped Aelinor’s hand firmly in his own and opened the door wide to admit her. She flushed at his sudden gallantry, hardly unexpected given his typical chivalrous behavior but somehow a surprise to her every time.

He closed and latched the door behind them, and Aelinor embraced both of her parents herself this time, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I prayed every night that I might find you. Every night in the Circle I clung to what memories I had of your faces, lest I lose what little the Circle hadn’t managed to take from me. And when the Blight began and Lothering was lost, I thought you gone forever...”

“So you did,” said Alistair. “And I knew it was a comfort to you, to think they were well and truly gone. As a mage and a warden you knew nothing but loss, and uncertainty only makes the hurt that much keener. I know the feeling myself, and you helped me work through it. Doing the same for you was the least I could do.”

Her father stepped back and held her at arm’s length, still clinging lightly to her sleeve as if she might dissipate into nothing were he to let her go. “Lothering elves lived at a crossroads, Aelinor, and we often heard more than the humans that passed through there, or perhaps we just listened harder. We knew which way the wind was blowing and even though a Blight was never our prediction, we knew that whatever the outcome of the fight, the first refugees to suffer are always the elves. So we took to the road well before Ostagar and lived as hired hands and servants wherever we could. News traveled slow and as you know, we cannot read and would have found it difficult to find a literate elf to dictate our letters to in order to reassure you we still lived. But His Majesty sent a red-haired young woman to look for us, Leliana was her name. I half-remembered her as a storytelling lay sister at the chantry who sometimes visited the alienage and sang about the old tales to the children there. She even knew the lays of Garahel and Ser Aveline. You keep good company.” He beamed at her proudly, grasping her shoulder. “And you have your friends to thank for this reunion. I don’t know how, but she found us on the road and brought us here.”

“Mother, father...I don’t know how much of my story you know the truth of because there are so many wild tales about me now, but I should tell you first and foremost of all that Alistair and I have tried to keep between us.”

Her mother smiled at them, though her brows creased with concern. “Is he...? Are you...?”

“She is the love of my life,” Alistair affirmed her mother’s unspoken assumption in no uncertain terms. “I owe her everything. I can’t even begin to explain how much. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t be alive, much less a king. She taught me my own worth and never forgot her own and it got us this far. I have no reason to doubt it will ever fail us.”

He reached for her hand again and clasped it tight. Ilven frowned slightly.

“That is all well and good. You’re one of the few humans of any caliber who’s proven himself friend to the elves, that’s for certain. But you are Ferelden’s king and she can never be your consort. Not in this nation, or any nation in Thedas.”

Aelinor met her father’s flinty gaze with her own, steadfast and sure. “We are loyal to each other in all but marriage. Before we moved forward with our plan to unite the nation as best we might through Alistair’s claim, we spoke of this.”

“I will never love another woman as I do her,” he said firmly. “Though I may have to marry, I won’t under any circumstances other than the purely political. She has my heart, and that will never change. But someday perhaps Thedas itself might, and I can marry her in earnest, though she doubts it.” He smiled wryly at her. “Aeli, my dear, you hardly know what you’ve started.”

“It’s true,” her mother said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “What the two of you have done for Ferelden, for our people...never think it goes unfelt. Your father and I can walk in the marketplace without half so many of the leers and sneers we were so accustomed to, and it has been months since the alienages in so many towns and cities lacked for sufficient food. Perhaps marriage between two people who love each other isn’t too much to hope for.”

Ilven raised an eyebrow skeptically but nodded. “That’s always possible, if unlikely. What I will say of the matter is this.” He looked Alistair up and down and extended a hand to him, which Alistair shook in all seriousness after looking briefly nonplussed. “I trust you with her heart. But you must swear in Andraste’s name never to break it.”

“You have my word, ser. She is my comrade-in-arms, my closest advisor, and my wife in every way that matters. I’d never have it otherwise.” Oriane Surana placed her hand over both of their own. “May Andraste bless your union and keep you both. If it’s not too presumptuous, ser, we hereby take you into our own family. From this day on, you may call us parent, and we will call you son.” Alistair was left speechless for a moment, and looked to Aelinor with a softness in his eyes she thought she understood. She squeezed his hand, the four of them united bodily in that moment through their hold on each other.

“During the Blight, we neither of us had family. We were more than content to find that in each other, but it seems that out of the infinite generosity of Andraste’s grace, she saw fit to give us even more.”


	2. Sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amethyne is Iona's daugher who shows up in the Denerim Alienage regardless of whether you do the Human Noble Origin or not. Aelinor's dress in the way I describe it looks like a less extravagant version of the dress in the concept art for Ferelden fashion in The World of Thedas, as you can see here: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/6e/9d/07/6e9d075f1f6ff15e0e085b94b87da076.jpg

At first, Aelinor had thought it would be best if she dressed in her Warden robes for court functions, if not ceremonial armor (of which she had none, apart from the old Dryden Warden Commander armor she had worn far too much in the field for it to be suitable for formal occasions anyway). She had even considered asking Master Wade to make her some as he would be more than up to the task and was at least provisionally the new armorer for the wardens in Ferelden given the complete destruction of the Order’s infrastructure in the wake of Ostagar. But Leliana had insisted she clothe herself in the garments she never got to wear in the Alienage or Circle - not expensive, necessarily, but inaccessible to elves and mages as a rule.

“You need to be _different_ ,” she proclaimed emphatically, rolling out bolts of cloth on the long trestle table in the palace dining room. “They know you are a hero and a Warden and an elf and a mage, but you need to show them that because of the position you inhabit now you are more than the sum of your parts.”

“And you are sure that won’t lead them to think my _position_ is directly beneath the king, and not in a flattering way?” Leliana wrinkled her nose.

“You don’t have to put it that way, Aeli! A little scandal is good if properly managed anyway, but that’s beside the point.”

“I’m not like you, Leliana,” Aelinor sighed. “I may have given my share of speeches and commands, but no matter my diplomatic inclinations I don’t know that I have the charm to overcome the fact that I am still an elf and a mage in the eyes of the court. With all the changes Alistair and I are making, it will be difficult to not only convince them of their merit, but also to maintain the support of the nobility when their instinct will be to blame someone like me for anything that goes wrong–especially if they come to consider me a kept woman.”

Leliana stroked her chin thoughtfully and wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I must say you underestimate yourself, and not for the first time. That aside, you must think of this as but another battlefield to divide and conquer. There are nobles who already have great respect for you who sided with you at the Landsmeet, and their estimation of you has only grown since the Battle of Denerim. Draw on their support, and focus on convincing those who seem willing to consider your perspective. Do not waste your efforts on those who adamantly oppose you unless absolutely necessary.”

Aelinor smiled. “As always, I have you to thank for making the world beyond Lake Calenhad make sense in a way no amount of my studies in the Tower ever could. I will heed your advice and build on what alliances I have to begin with.” She seated herself at the trestle table and looked at Leliana pointedly, lips curling mischievously. “But there is still the matter of my dress. And naturally, my shoes.”

Leliana unfurled several more bolts of cloth, blue eyes alight. “Yes, of course!”

* * *

In the end, Aelinor managed to limit Leliana’s wide-ranging fabric selection to linen overlaid with wool and leather for warmth and practicality, avoiding silk and its association with overindulgence and sensation. The pale blue linen of the underskirt was covered by the leathern overdress popular among the well-to-do, fastened at the chest and the waist and bound with a small leather belt but otherwise open to display the color of the lighter fabric beneath. Aelinor had insisted it be a modest ensemble that would draw no untoward attention, but it was still very becoming, suiting her slight frame with the graceful fall of its fabric about her hips and the upwards swoop of the popular starched shoulders. Leliana had insisted on a hint of gold in the outfit, which Aelinor had confined to the details on her leather slippers.

Her hair, kept so short in the Tower for practicality’s sake, had grown out since the Blight and hung in a red-gold curtain down the hollow of her spine. Not wanting anyone to think she had pretensions to a crown, Aelinor had refused any kind of circlet, but did allow her handmaid Amethyne to thread her hair with flowers from the alienage they had picked together in the patch of Andraste’s grace that grew in the alienage square.

The little girl stepped back and gasped in delight. “You look like a princess, my lady!” Aelinor smiled and smoothed back Amethyne’s hair with her hand.

“Now you’ll let me do yours, won’t you?”

“I-if you insist!” They knelt down by the hearth and Aelinor pulled the basket nearer and began to knot Amethyne’s fine blond hair at the crown of her head while leaving the rest of it loose, like her own. Amethyne had been orphaned by the war, her mother Iona having perished during Rendon Howe’s takeover of the Highever Arling. Aelinor had kept her close ever since going over the list of alienage casualties with Shianni. The rest of the elven children without parents had had close or extended family, thankfully, but Amethyne had been alone. Aelinor had brought her here to be raised and trained in comfort as her personal handmaiden with lodgings adjacent to her own. In her absence, the other elven palace servants assured Aelinor they would look out for her.

“Do you like it here in the palace, Amethyne?”

“Oh yes! It’s warm and there’s plenty of food, and you’re here and the other elves are nice to me. I’m never afraid here...I just wish mother could be here too.” Aelinor kissed the back of her head.

“I’ll be here as often as I can. But now, when I’m gone, you’ll be able to stay in the alienage.” Amethyne turned to look up at her, eyes wide and questioning.

“With who?”

“My parents.” The little girl grinned wide.

“I knew His Majesty would find them! I just knew it!” She hugged Aelinor tight and she had to laugh, even as tears pricked the corners of her eyes again.

“Did everyone but me know about this mission to find them?”

“He swore me to secrecy. I crossed my heart,” Amethyne said solemnly, running a finger across the bodice of her gown.

“You have done well, then. I’m sure the king would approve. And now you will be able to live among our people when I am not here. We will be sisters.”

“So when you and His Majesty have children, I can be their aunt!” Aelinor shushed her, making a quick survey of her room to ensure the doors and windows were sealed. She considered lying about her relationship with him, but only for a moment. If they were to be sisters, she wanted as few secrets between them as possible, and undoubtedly Alistair had been far too obvious about his feelings for her to explain them away, as usual.

“You are a good secret-keeper, Amethyne. I ask that you keep one more. Tell no one of what exists between myself and the king. Humans do not look kindly on the love that one of their kind may have for one of ours, and they would do all that they could to destroy it.” Amethyne nodded, crossing her heart again.

“I promise. He didn’t tell me, you know. It was the way he said your name.” Aelinor could feel her cheeks color and cursed her pale complexion. She was going to have to work on that if they were going to keep this under wraps.

“And how was that?”

“Real careful and quiet. Like he was afraid of losing it.” She reached for Aelinor’s hand. “But don’t worry, I crossed my heart. He can keep it.”

“Very good, then.” She squeezed the little girl’s shoulder and moved behind her again, sifting through their wicker basket for the showiest blooms she knew Amethyne favored.


	3. A Fereldan's Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an actual in-game conversation you can have with Anora in which she will directly ask you if you and Alistair are together. It really took me off guard because in my playthrough I was careful not to mention anything to Anora about Alistair other than that I think he would make a better king than she thought. But she was too sharp for my love to go unnoticed lol. You can see that conversation here: http://tatsuyamashiro.co.vu/post/182464039346/lmao-anora-is-so-sharp-all-i-did-was-say-i-think

Aelinor entered after the announcement of the arls and teyrns in attendance but before the banns. Traditionally, the king’s chamberlain would have been second only to the king, but she had feared seeming too much of an upstart by taking her place at his side, much as he had wished her to dare it. She had become chamberlain during his coronation ceremony and like his kingship it had been openly communicated to the rest of the kingdom, but there had been no separate ceremony conferring the title and responsibilities on her. This would be her first formal appearance as the chamberlain and with so many visiting dignitaries present, she could scarce afford to make mistakes.

She came in through a side door with little fanfare from the major domo as per her request, and bowing to the king, attempted to melt into the crowd and mingle with Leliana’s advice in mind. She could feel many sets of eyes on her, leering, appraising, disdaining. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat, but she kept her spine straight and her gaze level. There were no mages here, and the only elf besides herself in attendance was Shianni, but there were a few other familiar faces. Her background being what it was and feeling the need to justify it, she inhaled deeply and approached the gaggle of chantry sisters first.

“Sister Justine!” Aelinor inclined her head in the direction of the Denerim Chantry’s curator, who was surrounded by a number of other church officials deep in conversation. “How are your studies progressing?” Sister Justine smiled and motioned her closer. Her dark blond hair was elegantly braided as usual, though there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Ever since the discovery of the Sacred Ashes’ final resting place she had likely been burning the candle at both ends.

“Lady Surana, come, we were just discussing the latest excavation in the old temple above Haven. The etchings we have made of verses long lost from the Chant are an archivist’s dream–both those you found, and those Brother Genitivi and many others have uncovered since.”

“Long lost? Or stricken?” remarked one of the other sisters with a sour expression. Justine raised an eyebrow at her.

“Wilhelmina, you know very well none of them connect to any of the Dissonant Verses, or perhaps to any verses we know of at all. Taking joy in their recovery is far from controversial.” Wilhelmina sniffed but said no more, narrowing her eyes at Aelinor. Being an elf and a mage and a public official, she was a flagrant offense to the natural order of things most conservative Andrastians adhered to, so it was hardly surprising.

“I can understand Sister Wilhelmina’s caution,” Aelinor said, hoping she would seem reasonable rather than sycophantic, little as she cared to appeal to someone so ready to hate her. “I did find a great deal of these writings in the den of dragon cultists, after all. But so long as we have veteran researchers like Sister Justine and her fellow scholars on hand, I trust they will parse the truth from the apocryphal. In any case, the authenticity of the ashes themselves can hardly be doubted. Without them, all of Denerim may have been corrupted by the Blight now, so I think we can all agree that the Maker had a hand in our deliverance, regardless of what may yet be discovered.” Though Wilhelmina stared her down obstinately, many of the other sisters looked at her thoughtfully or even nodded enthusiastically as Justine did. Leliana’s advice was working like a charm.

Suddenly all the sisters about her were bowing, and Aelinor turned to find that Alistair was standing right behind her, clad in leathers threaded with the strong geometric designs characteristic of the Alamarri. She bowed herself even as she sighed inwardly. He had not held out for very long.

“Your Majesty?”

“My dear sisters of the Chantry, I must allow you to excuse Lady Surana for a moment, as Arl Wulff desires her audience.”

“Yes, of course, King Alistair,” said Sister Justine. “Thank you again to you both for your service to the Chantry. I very much look forward to sharing my findings with you in the weeks and months to come.” Aelinor nodded and moved to Alistair’s side as they walked away. The dining hall was vast and Arl Wulff was located conveniently at its far end.

She noticed Alistair’s arm twitch at his side, no doubt out of force of habit. When they walked alone together, it was rare indeed that he did not take her arm in his own.

“Alistair...”

“Yes, my dear, I know,” he whispered. “I know being within twenty feet of me in the public eye makes you uncomfortable, but people will talk no matter what. We do not need to be miserable, merely professional.” She looked up at his face, but he was staring straight ahead and talking out of the corner of his mouth. So Leliana had managed to get through to him too. She smiled.

“No, you’re right. There have been few female chamberlains in the history of the country in any case, much less mage or elven individuals who have held the position, male or female. They were always going to talk. We can enjoy each other’s company even in public if we are discreet, which you have been. I am grateful for it.” He nodded slightly, and could not suppress a half-smile from quirking the edge of his lips.

“You should be. It’s all I can do not to kiss you right now.” She could feel her flush creeping up the back of her neck again and blessed the high embroidered collar she wore for covering up the worst of it.

“Not to worry, Your Majesty...I’ll be certain to show you how grateful I am once we’re alone.” Alistair said nothing to that and instead cleared his throat a bit too loudly and placed his hand for the briefest of moments at the small of her back, guiding her toward the upper right corner of the room below the dais where the Arl of the West Hills commanded a lively group of nobles. They quieted and bowed at the king’s approach, eying her with curiosity.

“My chamberlain, Lady Aelinor Surana.” She curtsied, and meeting their gazes afterward was not nearly as daunting as she had thought it would be. Of course, it helped to have the king at her side, but this crowd in general seemed to take her presence in better humor than many in attendance.

“How fare the West Hills, Arl Wullf?” she asked. The south had taken the brunt of the horde’s incursion, and would be slow to recover. But she did not want to shy away from the obvious.

“Poorly,” he replied, “but improving with the help of the capital. There is green there still, and the fall will yield a harvest. In the meantime, your efforts with the dwarves to lower the price of provisions for us in the Frostbacks have proven most helpful. And the horde itself is all but vanquished.”

“And yet,” said a new voice in careful, even tones, “is not much of the ‘help of the capital’ owed to Orlais? For it is their Wardens who have bivouacked there with the king’s approval.”

A new face emerged from the crowd, fair-skinned and clear-complexioned. Anora Mac Tir. Aelinor turned and regarded her levelly, but without malice.

“Lady Mac Tir, I need not remind you that while the Wardens have historically overstepped their bounds on certain occasions, their loyalty has always been to themselves and to their mission of protection against the Blight. In the West Hills, the Blight remains and is combated with their help. There is no ambiguity in it in my accounting, but I invite you to find some yourself, should you seek it.”

“If you don’t trust the Wardens’ understanding of it, I wonder what you consider mine, Anora?” Arl Wulff added gruffly. “The self-important prattle of an old man who seeks to solicit favors for his holdings? If you don’t believe me, visit my arling or any portion of the south yourself. The farmers fending off raiding parties and dying of plague will surely lay your suspicions to rest.”

“I did not mean to question the gravity of your situation,” Anora replied coolly. “Merely to point out how easily the enemy might move on us once these Wardens overstay their welcome.”

“Regardless of the loyalty of the Orlesian Wardens, under other circumstances Ferelden would have had its own force,” Alistair cut in, voice hard and sharp with anger. “But fate would have it otherwise, it seems.”

“Indeed,” replied Anora. “Fate would have them on the throne and in the palace chambers.”

Aelinor controlled her sharp intake of breath even as her heart pounded in her ears. Anora had baldly put the question to her prior to the Landsmeet–did she have feelings for Alistair, given the way she spoke of him in such glowing terms? Why did she believe an inexperienced and naive young man like himself could be king? Aelinor had merely replied that she thought Alistair would make a better king than Anora believed and the then-queen had let the matter drop. But of course, she had held onto her read on the situation. It was correct, after all. And Aelinor almost laughed aloud at the pun and how it could be taken as merely a statement of truth or as a double-entendre: a chamberlain in the palace chambers. It was meant to get a rise out of her and Alistair, but she would not let it. Hopefully, Leliana had schooled him well enough that it would not get to him either. She would have put a hand on his shoulder to remind him of the necessity of restraint but of course that would have just put proof to Anora’s thinly veiled accusation.

But before she could so much as speak, there was a commotion in the small crowd as her mabari barreled through the assembled nobles to reach her side, bumping his muzzle against her hand and squeezing in between herself and Alistair.

“What are you doing here, boy?” she said sharply. He wagged his tail and barked with gusto, then looked up at the rest of the crowd with dark, liquid eyes suggesting an innocence Aelinor knew he did not have. “Well, as he seems to have introduced himself without all due courtesy, I shall do my best to atone for him on his behalf. This is my mabari, Shadow. I managed to heal him of the Taint he contracted at Ostagar and he’s followed me ever since.”

Arl Wulff crouched down to get a better look at him and Shadow barked excitedly. “A fine beast. If I am not mistaken, he has recently sired several litters of puppies known for their resilience and ferocity as much as their sweet temper. I gave one such whelp to my daughter.”

Aelinor smiled, grateful for the sudden change in topic. Shadow was a sly creature, indeed. “Yes, he’s been helping to replenish the kennels here in Denerim when he is not at my side. His mate is Bertie, a bitch from the long line of Theirin hounds.” The other nobles gathered around eagerly to ask more questions about his pedigree and the line he was sire to, and Anora’s slight seemed all but forgotten. Aelinor looked for her in the crowd, but she was gone.

“Bertie?” asked Arl Wulff, no doubt amused at so plebian a title for a descendent of the likes of “Sentinel,” and “Duchess.”

Alistair grinned. “Yes, short for Camembertie.” His stomach growled audibly and he leaned over Shadow to speak to Aelinor above the vigorous mabari breeding discussion Shadow’s entrance had set off. “It will be time for dinner soon, thank the Maker. I wasn’t sure how much more of that I could take, but you weathered it well.”

“I’m sure we’ve not seen the last of it,” Aelinor replied, scanning the crowd for Anora and finding her near the group of chantry sisters she’d spoken with earlier. “But I think we managed to make a case for ourselves and maintain our dignity. It wasn’t just my doing, either, Alistair.”

“No, of course not! Shadow takes the lion’s share of the credit.” She rolled her eyes but his slight smile and the gentle tilt of his head in her direction told her that he knew he had done well and that her assurance was enough.


	4. Song and Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recorded myself singing the ballad I wrote for Leliana here: http://tatsuyamashiro.co.vu/post/182871468706/ummmmm-maybe-i-just-wrote-a-ballad-for-leliana

_“The golden eyes I knew so well_

_Turned far their gaze from me_

_Foresworn was I to break the spell_

_But adamant was she_

 

_By dark of night she stole away_

_Far-flung her path did range_

_O’er heart and soul she still held sway_

_Folk found me passing strange_

 

_For in the depths of moonless night_

_I sought that spark of gold_

_Without her flame to keep it bright_

_I found my heart grew cold.”_

 

Leliana finished up her song at the head of the dais to a smattering of applause. When she took her seat above the salt, she thought it would have set off more indignation among the nobles, but most of that seemed to be reserved for the two elven women she seated herself near: Aelinor Surana, hero of Ferelden and the new royal chamberlain, and Shianni, the new hahren of the Denerim Alienage. She’d taken her place at Aelinor’s right hand and stuck out slightly less there because they were both elves, but her manner of dress certainly drew the eye–simple linen and brocade but finely stitched in the manner practiced in many elven alienages.

“That was a beautiful ballad, Leliana,” said Aelinor. Her coppery hair seemed to shift from red to gold and back at once in the warmth of the torchlight, and Leliana was proud of her for wearing it down. It had taken some coaxing to get her to grow it out as she had kept it short ever since she could remember for practical reasons.

“Thank you. I thought I might try something new and not obviously Orlesian for my first day in court here. But ultimately I think it may not have mattered because all eyes were on the two of you.”

“For better or worse,” scoffed Shianni. But she grinned. “But surprisingly mostly for better, I think.”

“Indeed.” Leliana surveyed the room and noted that most of those seated at the table were preoccupied with their food now. “You’ve both conducted yourself with enough finesse that their attention has been successfully diverted by the cheese platter. They don’t find you as threatening as they expected.”

“Because they’re starting to accept us? Or because they think us token members of the king’s court?” asked Shianni, idly stirring her stew.

“From what I was able to gather, a bit of both, and neither. Some of them think you, pardon my phrasing, the king’s pet project because he has a certain...inclination towards elven women. Which is something I’m sure will always be bandied about court so long as he remains unmarried and works with the elven community. I think that would be true even if you weren’t his chamberlain, Aelinor. But your reputation as the savior of Fereldan is not without weight, and a fair few powerful nobles were open in their support of you, especially the younger set who finds the stuffiness of a staid and complacent royal court suffocating. You are their breath of fresh air, and Seranni with you. Keep your sharp tongue at the ready, Seranni, for it will mostly serve to remind them that you speak with authority under the king’s protection now. Aelinor must play the diplomat, but you can remain a firebrand.”

Shianni blinked, slightly dazzled. “Your friend is as savvy as you said, Aeli. I’m impressed.” Aelinor, however, appeared somewhat anxious as she craned her neck to get a better view of the room beyond the taller human guests at the table.

“And what of Anora, Leliana? How did the court find my handling of her insinuation?”

Leliana nodded in the direction of the dais, where Anora was in conversation with the king himself. “I think you must have handled it well, or she would not so readily admit defeat by speaking with the king himself in front of all the court. That looks too much like begging for her taste, even if it matters comparatively little to her peers. She is prideful, and not unlike her father in that way.” Alistair looked vaguely annoyed, one eyebrow raised in irritation, but other than that their conversation seemed peaceable. Aelinor breathed a sigh of relief.

“I know that won’t be the last time I’m confronted in such a way but I am glad to know you think I’ve successfully deflected her best efforts this time. But what is it that you think she intends?”

Leliana narrowed her eyes and watched Anora on the dais, the way she held herself ramrod straight and clasped her hands at the base of her spine, behind her back.

“My guess is that she is looking for a way to divide the two of you. To lessen your importance or presence here so other matters more to her liking will take priority. She has no hatred for the elves, but I doubt she wants the country’s resources spent on them more than she thinks necessary. She wants to control the political direction of the country, even without her throne.” Leliana turned to Aelinor and smiled. “I think she will find that difficult. Like everyone else here, I think she has found your bond with Alistair to be much stronger than they could have imagined–you are a formidable political force and you’ve presented them with a united front. So far, your reconstruction of the country has proceeded in a straightforward, efficient fashion they have found to be as fair as it is effective and you make a romantic pair, given your heroism. You give them hope, as you once gave me.”

Aelinor smiled in that slow tentative way she had, the way of all people Leliana knew who had little reason to smile for much of their life and were afraid of assuming it would last. She put a hand on her shoulder. “That is good to know. I will have to tell him so, later. I know he’s probably more worried than even I am, he’s just better at hiding it.”

“The two of you are the talk of the alienage,” added Shianni. “And that’s no small feat considering how little love we bear for humans. We won’t forget how you saved your own, and how you fought for us when the Blight was at your door. They sing songs in the street of how you and the witch summoned a storm to rend the heavens and struck down the ogre the moment it breached the barricade.” _Morrigan_. Leliana felt something cold and hard in the back of her throat, and swallowed it down.

Aelinor smiled, a distant look in her eyes as she thought back on their adventures. “One of my better efforts. I couldn’t have done it without her. I’m overjoyed to have a place in your songs and stories. I spent little enough of my life in the Lothering Alienage before I was taken to Kinloch Hold, but I tried to remember all of the songs and stories I could. I’ve had to grow up far away from the traditions of our people, and to be a part of that now...I can’t think of a higher honor.”

The reedy sound of pipes being tuned drifted across the room from the end of the hall, and Shianni’s ears perked up. “Speaking of our people...” She lobbed a thumb toward the growing ensemble of elven musicians opposite the trestle table. “They’ll be needing me on the lyre.”

Aelinor grinned in delight. “I didn’t know you were musical, Shianni! Or that you would be playing for us tonight!”

“It was the king’s idea; I assumed he told you. Perhaps he meant it to be a surprise.” She and Leliana exchanged knowing looks and Leliana could tell Aelinor was fighting back the urge to look in Alistair’s direction, staring fixedly at the spoon in her hand, eyes half-lidded with longing. Instead, she turned to Leliana.

“Now that it’s just the two of us...” she spoke in hushed tones. “I know you sang for her tonight."

Leliana looked into the middle distance at nothing in particular, restlessly shucking her spoon between her knuckles. She’d often perform tricks with silverware to make Aelinor laugh and to attempt to outdo Zevran’s sleight of hand, honed with far deadlier tools in his line of work. But tonight she did so only to give her hands something to touch, lacking what they used to hold.

"How are you faring? As soon as I can get away, I still plan on searching for Morrigan. Will you wait with me, until the time is right?”

She nodded. “I could never desert you while the kingdom still dances on the edge of a knife. Ferelden is not so big as Morrigan thinks. We _will_ find her.” Aelinor did not ask what she would do if they did find her, and for that Leliana was grateful, because she had no answer.

The music started up–a high, keen, silver-noted tune the likes of which Leliana had rarely heard. It was a shame the elves kept so much to themselves, even in the cities. There was so much hidden beauty in their understanding of the world. Of course, that is a choice that was made for them, she reminded herself. It was something she hadn’t really thought on until she and Aelinor had grown close and she had explained on many an occasion that city elves did not relish their lot but made the best of it and protected what they could of what remained to them with as much ferocity as the Dalish.

Slowly but surely, most of the assembled nobles drifted towards the dance floor. Leliana looked for Alistair, expecting him to dance with some female dignitary or other out of politeness as she had told him he ought, but found he was headed directly for their side of the trestle table. She leaned over to whisper into Aelinor’s ear.

“His Majesty is feeling bold tonight, but after all that has transpired, I think you should too.” Aelinor continued to stare determinedly at her spoon. “He will ask you to dance, and I believe you should say yes. There will be no stemming the rumors, so you should give them something to talk about that you can control. The king will dance with his greatest champion tonight, and there will be no question as to who rules this country. Give them the certainty they require.”

Aelinor smoothed the pale blue linen of her dress beneath her as she stood and turned to meet his eyes as he approached. Leliana recognized the fear in her, the slight crease between her brows and the stiff, still way she held herself. She curtsied carefully and with painstaking precision, slow enough to gather her courage. Alistair, for his part, appeared perfectly at ease with his choice to bind himself to her so publicly. He gently tugged her up and out of her show of obeisance and took her hand in his. She was so small beside him, and over Aelinor’s shoulder, Leliana could see he looked on her with a clear-eyed intensity that asked nothing even as it offered everything.

“Lady Surana, may I have this dance?”

“With your leave, Your Majesty, you may. But I may be a poor partner, as I do not know the steps.” He chuckled softly, his eyes bright.

“It’s a good thing Shianni taught me, then, isn’t it?” Aelinor looked between him and the company of musicians at the end of the hall, and her reply caught in her throat even as her eyes glimmered faintly with what could only be tears. “I’ll take the lead for once.” And he led her hand in hand to the middle of the floor, which cleared immediately at his approach.

Alistair wasted no time, his hand sliding to her waist as he lifted the other to lead her through the steps, a series of quick and intricate movements so unlike the stately, measured court dances typical of Ferelden nobility. Aelinor caught on quickly, as it was not too unlike the movement required of her in combat as an arcane warrior, finessing the sure, swift movements of melee combat with the preternatural awareness of the resonance of her steps in realms beyond this one. Leliana wondered then if elves had danced over and through the Veil many centuries past, when they had reigned immortal. Alistair had chosen this dance with the intention of showing how much her culture meant to him, no doubt, but he was also giving the court an opportunity to understand what he saw in her and her people. It was an effective political maneuver, intentional or no.

Anora watched from the fringes of the crowd, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. It was time for Leliana to put her own gambit into motion. She made her way towards her, and curtsied. Anora nodded in acknowledgement and Leliana rose up to meet her steely gaze.

“And you are...? A bard, or something more sinister?”

“I am merely an adventurer and former Chantry sister, traveling companion to the hero of Ferelden.”

“Ah, yes. Leliana.” Anora narrowed her eyes. “And what would you ask of me?”

“Why, only your hand, Lady Anora. I have made a quick study of this new court dance and know you to be a talented partner, or so it is said.”

Anora rolled her eyes. “I had not heard as such. But knowing your sort, the exact opposite would be said of me were I to refuse you. Very well. Lead on...Sister Leliana.”


End file.
